Instinct
by two lls
Summary: Hagan Thure, a lowly deck hand for a Rogue Trader, finds himself trapped, miles underwater on a flooding aquatic drilling vessel, fighting for survival between evil forces, alien hunters while becoming and embroiled in a hunt for a dark secret.


He had known fear in his life. He remembered it from his days running from the Arbitrators, fighting other hab-gangs and being beaten in his youth in the down-hives of his home-world. But it was not like this.

The giants stood stone still around the control chamber. They where cloaked and hooded, hiding most of their features, but the heavy material could not disguise the firm outline of their thick armour, or the red glint of their eye slits as they glowed out of the shadowy helms. A threatening, choking aura of violence surrounded them, and it emanated across the room. They stood eight-foot tall and each one held their weapons at the ready – from reverent looking boltguns and pistols, to large, sharp-edged swords.

He tried not to look at them, just in case one decided to crush him in its armoured hand. But some morbid part of his mind forced him to glance over at the warrior gods. In their presence he could barely think, and his first instinct was to flee to another part of the vessel. He remembered tales of such beings, of their strength, honour and fervent belief in the Emperor. He believed every story now. The space marines where truly a sight to behold – one that Hagan Thure wished he didn't have to see each day.

For the last few weeks they had taken command of Captain Detorius' starship – the rat-vox was that the Captain had immediately changed course for a warzone sector when they arrived. Hagan had barely left the maze-like passageways of the ship ever since he had been press-ganged into labour aboard the Rogue Traders cruiser, a lowly deck hand as he was, and had relied on such whisperings for information – and this time it turned out to be true. Several weeks later, he had been pulled from his maintenance duties to help setup the _Jetty_, one of Detorius' rarest contraptions – a deep sea drilling vessel. The space marines needed to dig deep underwater it seemed. Unfortunately for Hagan, he was now part of that mission, stuck miles underwater on a war-torn world he didn't even know the name of, and trapped in the ship with six of the Emperors Angels of Death.

'Thure,' a brash voice hissed, 'keep working you frag-arsed carpian rat!'

He snapped out of his dreaming, looked away from the marines, and continued his work. For the last hour he had been part of a team fixing a damaged rebreathing unit on the bridge of the _Jetty_. Task-master Frund glared at him from across the other side of the unit – now a tangled heap of wires, metal fragments and control panels. Thure smiled weakly at his boss, 'sorry sir, just tired is all.'

Frund merely looked meanly at him in response. Thure knew the task-master wanted to make a good impression in front of the officers and the space marines, so was on everyone's backs even more than normal.

As Thure picked up his tools, he felt the deck vibrate more than usual, and he heard the tell-tale groan of straining metal. He immediately remembered how deep they were drilling, and shuddered at the thought of something worse breaking than a rebreathing unit.

The officers suddenly raised their voices. 'We've found it sir,' one stated, 'we can stop drilling, they've got it!' Several officers clapped and Thure saw the Captain shaking hands with many of them. Most of the repair crew, including Frund this time, stopped their work to watch the celebration. The bridge of the _Jetty_ was small in comparison to its counterpart on _the Light of the Astromonican_, Detorius' starship. Several work stations filled with servitor-units and cognitors ringed a raised platform where the Rogue Trader and his officers stood controlling the ship. Nothing as grand as the seat of power on a starship to be sure, but impressive to Thure none-the-less.

One of the space marines moved urgently towards the Captain's platform. 'Are you sure?' he said. His voice was so strong it carried all across the bridge. Thure saw the Captain nod in affirmation. 'Good,' replied the marine as he swiftly brought up his bolt pistol and coolly shot Detorius in the head. Blood gushed from the wound, the impact sending jagged skull fragments across the bridge.

As the Captains corpse dropped to the deck with a sickening thud, the rest of the marines opened fire, systematically picking off each of the officers. Thure flung himself to the floor, as thick bullet rounds torn across the bridge, ripping apart machinery as well as flesh. Cold, burning terror clawed at his chest as he clutched his ears in his hands, trying to block out the roaring sound of the boltguns. A whole new fear washed over him as he realised he was but a whisper away from death.

At first, he merely tried to hide behind the unit he had been working on, backing firmly against it, the hard metal surface giving him a small semblance of safety. Any thought of such safety vanished when several self propelled bolts punched straight through the rebreathing unit and exploded around him. He cried out and blind instinct poured adrenaline into his muscles as he scrambled away – at once trying to run and crawl, resulting in an awkward lunge towards a closed bulkhead door.

Frund wasn't far behind, eating up the space between them faster than any carpian rat could ever have. It wasn't fast enough. Several bolts impacted upon his back, snapping his spine and ripping out his insides in ghastly red gouts. He was dead as his body tumbled fiercely to the metal flooring and skidded several feet in the direction of Thure, his limbs and head folding at awkward angles as they caught in the rugged floor-plating. As the body stopped before the prostrate Thure, it looked more like a soiled child's rag-doll rather than a human being.

Bile rose in Thure's throat. His eyes widened and he choked on an inadvertent yelp, his dry throat clamping shut. Blood from his now-dead Task-master had splattered on his boots and work trousers, and Thure thought it a curious sight. Moments before, he was cursing the Task-master, now however, all he wanted was for him to stand up and take charge of the situation, saving them both. His terrified thoughts where brought back to reality with the sight of one of the space marines. He stepped into view, firing his boltgun at some unfortunate soul to the right of Thure. Again, instinct slapped Thure in the face, and he scrambled away from the giant warrior and the body of Frund, backing into the closed door.

The marine turned towards him. Now that it had de-cloaked, Thure could see, if not feel, that something was wrong about the warrior. Gone was the noble, heroic vision. The truth somehow filtered into reality, and the beast that it was could be seen. The marines armour looked old, corrupt and beaten – as if it had seen centuries of war. Heinous symbols adorned its dull red power armour, hurting Thure's eyes even as he glanced over them. Its helmet bore a grinning metal face, twisted into the awful parody of a skull. Its gun ended in spikes the colour of bone.

As the traitor marine aimed his weapon at the deck-hand, an intense spear of light hit it squarely in its chest armour, pushing it back ever-so-slightly. The marine turned with inhuman speed, firing its boltgun at an attacker unseen by Thure. The intensely loud and jarring sound the marines weapons made vibrated incessantly throughout the bridge, deafening Thure. The barking rumble beat along with his heart in his chest as he realised he had somehow been saved. He pushed himself up and hit the activation switch of the door. With a hiss of pneumonic gas the bulkhead door slid open vertically, and Thure began crawling out as soon as he could fit through.

As he stood on the other side he was met by the sight of a multi-barrelled gun.

He ducked down again, cursing his luck and the name of the God-Emperor, waiting for the end. It didn't come.

'Fire!' said a voice. The sound of multiple hard rounds emptying from a gun exploded around Thure. He had his eyes closed so didn't register the fact they all missed until a few moments later, as his consciousness broke through the fear blanketing his thoughts. Several Storm Guards charged passed firing their weapons on full auto, while Gun Servitors stalked along with them, opening up with their multi-barrelled autoguns. Finally the terrified mind of Thure realised that the reinforcements had arrived, and that a full-scale battle had commenced on the bridge of the _Jetty_. He edged forward as the remaining guards ran into the bridge. Moments later he had stood up and ran along the twisting corridor, away from the wild sounds of battle.

*

The lights flickered worryingly. The cold metal-plated walls shivered as if terrified. Strange sounds permeated the atmosphere. Sometimes they sounded like heretical whispers, or like rushing water, or even like death. Yes, it was best described as the sound of death.

Thure sat hunched in a shadowy corner of a supply room, hugging his knees. He had fled the carnage of the bridge and found the nearest isolated room he could find. Again, now that he was more coherent, he felt that some ancient human instinct had driven him here. Somewhere dark, quiet and hard to find. It was a whole new level of fear he had experienced, he realised, than any he had endured before. He had thought just seeing the marines was intense, but witnessing them massacre a bridge full of humans so effectively, so violently, ripped such naive thoughts to pieces.

He began to realise, though, as his mind cleared, what an awful situation he was actually in.

He was in an underwater vessel, on a war-torn world, that had just been taken over by a squad of super-human, nigh-undefeatable warriors warp-bent on the destruction of everyone on board.

Some part of him wanted to understand why. Why had they turned? Why did they suddenly attack the Captain and everyone else while they were drilling underwater? Why them? Why him?

Something triggered a thought in his mind. They attacked just after they had found what they were drilling for. Was it somehow planned? He shook his head and let out a sigh of frustration and helplessness. What did it matter what the space marines wanted or why it happened? It didn't change the facts. He was trapped here. Unkillable super-beings were trying to murder everyone and take over the vessel. And Hagan Thure was stuck in the middle of it all.

Was he to die here? Did the God-Emperor wish the light of Hagan Thure's soul to be extinguished? It seemed so. But something tickled the back of his mind, that reaction to such closeness of death. The will to survive. He realised then, that he may have a chance. The _Jetty_ had escape pods, just like most other vessels. He now remembered them from the safety briefings. Usually he ignored most of what was said at such things – he never expected anything to go wrong with the machine-spirits in control. He always prayed and spoke to them daily. But now, he was glad of such things.

He slowly stood, shaking off the numbness in his limbs from sitting for so long, visualising his route to one of the nearest escape pods. A new purpose invigorated him as he considered the fact that he may indeed survive this.

He was about to leave when the room vibrated fiercely and the world rocked violently from side to side. Thure fell helplessly to his knees, trying in vain to grab hold of something to steady himself. Instead, he used the floor, planting his hands and knees firmly on the surface, while locker doors burst open, emptying tools, paperwork and belongings around the room and over Thure. Agonising seconds past and it abruptly stopped.

A strange, humble silence followed. The floor then started to vibrate. Somehow Thure knew that whatever had happened, it wasn't anything good.

The sounds he heard this time were a little clearer. It wasn't sibilant whisperings this time. It was most definitely the sound of rushing water.

*

The plating on the wall of the corrider shook incessantly as if the _Jetty_ was in the grip of an earthquake. Thure had survived such an event in the underhives, and he darely wished he was back there and not trapped here. Small streams of dirty water –soiled by the lubricated innards of _Jetty's_ machine spirit – fell through minute cracks in the wall and ceiling, confirming Thures worst fears.

The _Jetty's_ hull had been compromised and the surrounding ocean was eating into her, compartment at a time. He had no idea how long it would take for the vessel to succumb to a watery death, but he knew his time, his life, was short. He had to get to a life-pod as swifty as possible.

He turned from the wall, the water above rushing to the floor faster, and edged towards the bulkhead door before him – even though the threat of drowning was near, he was all to aware that the marines could still lay in wait behind every closed door.


End file.
